Palisade

The clandestine destined city
Nestled in a valley, by a lake
Blinked its bright window’s lights
Over its capitol and downtown streets

A nexus populace and bereaved people
Once sang of their steely nerves
They all knew their innocence was gone
And they sit lazily on the gritty sidewalks

The fences sweep a backdrop of forlorn doors
Out on the streets walk the gross, short atlas whores
Services ignored as rain ceases to pour
A numbing drone in your occipital lobe

Locals of time lighting cigarettes and stopping by
Smoke in five dimensions swirling all direction
The dislocation here is, nothing to be feared
In the city where lakes are made of tears

Closets stacked infinitely with grand finery
Hidden in the planes of Montezuma’s hangars
Rubies, these wines and giant codex spires
Are secrets of the past while fire combusts and flashes

The locals play music and paint pictures
Cats are called, dogs whine and growl
Some men dress in ladies clothes
Why it matters, is of what they chose

Crevices and trenches of the city are terrifying
At first, no one is used to them
Once people learn to not fear the dark
Most prefer to then dwell in shadows

Awake, they bash their heads against brick alley walls
When they’re asleep, they succumb to shock and awe
In their dreams, the brick tumbles and falls
In reality, the wall isn’t even made to shake, sleep is flawed

They all discovered their treasures at the same time
They set up amps and conduits in the gutters
They hang lights, imbibe, and decide
What folk tune to play or setting to switch to

For them the circus is ringing loudly now
The wild lights and laughing sounds grasp them
Uppers and downers won’t fix what isn’t broken
For they know what they feel should now be natural